


Clockwise Operetta

by monstersinthecosmos



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: M/M, Spanking, marius goes hard, yike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 08:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16970907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monstersinthecosmos/pseuds/monstersinthecosmos
Summary: SPANKING prompt from Kinktober. D:





	Clockwise Operetta

**Author's Note:**

> Named after [Clockwise Operetta by Tomáš Dvořák](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jryus3IfS6Y). <3<3<3
> 
> Still in the process of x-posting some of my Tumblr fics. Let me know if there's any I should bring over! :)

Marius is in a mood. 

 

The others don’t seem to notice. They don’t know him the way Armand does. It’s a thing that aches, deep in his chest, this realization that Marius hasn’t changed. It’s been five hundred years and he hasn’t changed. 

 

Of course, to Armand’s logic, that means it’s still easy to provoke him.

 

It’s been a long time since he’s submitted to anybody. Sincerely submitted, in that way that chills him down to his bones and leaves his head in a pleasant fog. He realizes, as Marius falls into his trap, that he can’t recall anyone putting him in that place since Marius himself. It’s been five hundred years.

 

With others, when he submits it’s all posturing. Louis was never really in control, neither was Nicki. He’d let Daniel beat him bloody so many times and it barely registered. Maybe he’s become complacent, maybe he doesn’t remember. It’s naive that he thought provoking Marius could result in so much as a shred of control. 

 

Because Marius’s hands are on him. Large hands. He’s not bigger than he used to be, but it seems like Armand forgot. No one ever makes him feel this small anymore. He’s bent over Marius’s lap, a hand clamped over the back of his neck to keep him in place as the other strokes and smooths over the stinging red mark he’s just put on Armand’s ass cheek. 

 

“It’s been a long time,  _ Amadeo _ ,” Marius says. Low and quiet and calm. His hand cracks down again,  _ hard _ , enough that Armand sees a flash of white. That it breaks through the barrier of preternatural strength is terrifying. The Blood goes tight in his body, confused and alarmed, unaccustomed to danger. “It’s shameful that you still haven’t learned how to behave.”

 

Just ten minutes ago he would’ve had a reply. Some sarcastic quip to throw back in Marius’s face, and he would’ve preened happily at his old master’s disbelief. But the words are leaving him, the confidence is tangled in a knot somewhere, and there’s only space in his mind for the sensation.

 

The blows alternate sides, an uneven pace, so that Armand can’t guess where and when they’ll land. It’s all red heat and shrieking gold light charging through his nerves. He moans into the mattress. He hasn’t felt this sensitive in centuries.

 

He goes cold when it dawns on him. Marius grips tighter at the back of his neck and he feels it squeeze inside his head, gentle pressure at the base of his skull. When Marius hits him again it jolts his entire body forward so that he rocks against Marius’s lap. He goes stiff and thinks of Daniel, and remembers back. Being a human in this very position, his face hot, weeping into the coverlet and trying to grind his erection into Marius’s leg with each strike.

 

But Marius would scold him, and hold him back, tell him he was filthy for attempting it. He’d absolutely burn with shame and it did nothing to make him more modest.

 

“Please,” he remembers begging as a human, and he thinks he says it now, too. Back then, Marius would have him slick with fragrant oil, and between blows he’d be touching inside, stretching Armand open. Through the sharpest pain he’d lay slow patterns with his fingers so that Armand was trembling, near tears, and every time he felt close enough to climax, Marius would pull back and hit him again. 

 

“Please what?” 

 

He’s drifting between the memory and the present and realizes that Marius is speaking to him, and there’s a flush of static over his entire body when he realizes how much Marius restrained himself back then. Because if he’d struck a human with this force, he’d have shattered them. Crushed their tailbone, their pelvis, utterly and literally ruined them. 

 

_ Please what _ , indeed. He isn’t sure what he’s asking for, but it’s the only word he can remember to say out loud. 

 

Back then, it was how he’d cry for release. Marius would hook his fingers around Armand’s hip, effortlessly lifting him so that he couldn’t get any friction, leaving him dripping and untouched. He wanted Marius’s hands on him, cold and strong, stroking him to completion. Or in him, or striking him, and he’d have been happy to rut against Marius’s thigh until he made a mess. He’d have burned beneath the disappointed gaze after. Marius would find it so undignified. 

 

He knows he’s bruising beneath Marius’s hand, even though it will be gone soon. It’s a dull ache in his muscles. Pain that deep is unfamiliar to him these days. He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. 

 

“Marius-” he begins to say, but the next blow is hard enough that he sees stars. Something maybe broke inside, and he feels it everywhere. It tingles in his fingertips and the bottoms of his feet, the roots of his hair. 

 

“Try that again, Amadeo.”

 

His vision is going red and he has to squeezes his eyes shut to dispel the tears. 

 

In the past, Marius always rubbed the sore spots after, and his hands were so cold, such a relief. 

 

“ _ Master. _ ”

 

Marius pets him, and squeezes, and for a moment pulls him open like he used to. It’s meaningless now, except that the gesture itself feels symbolic, potent, and he whimpers. 

 

“You’re a harlot,” he says. As a human this might have triggered his orgasm. 

 

“Please, Master,” he pleads.

 

“You beg like a fool.”

 

The whole island can probably hear the slap of Marius’s palm against his skin. He thinks his bones are splintering but the pain is making him dizzy. He didn’t think it was possible to get to this place anymore. 

 

_ Fuck me, fuck me _ , he used to cry,  _ put it in me _ , and Marius never would. He didn’t understand at the time and it used to fill him with such a burning sense of rejection. 

 

He feels very small. He feels young. It’s been five hundred years and Marius is still so strong. This much hasn’t changed at all.

 

The hand on his neck eases, draws back, and he’s tucking Armand’s hair behind his ears. He holds his wrist beneath Armand’s face and he sees the vague pulse of blue veins.

 

“You need it,” he says. He flexes his fingers so that the veins dance beneath his ancient white skin. “You’re shameless. You act coy but you’ve exposed yourself.”

 

Armand swallows hard and goes to bite but Marius pulls out of reach and spanks him hard enough that his ears ring. 

 

“Ask nicely.”

 

“Please,” he says. His voice is soft and pathetic. “Give me the Blood, Master. Please, I need it.”

 

“Imagine if your fledgling saw you now,” he purrs. “Your peers. The visitors of your island. I suppose they don’t truly know you. Not the way I do.”

 

His teeth snap shut as he tries to bite again, only to reach nothing. Marius’s fingers brush against his hole. 

 

“Please, Master. I need you.”

 

The tension in Marius’s body unwinds, like a pressure valve has been released. For a stretch of time he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Armand can hear his heavy old heartbeat.

 

“I need you,” he says again. And he thinks he means it. 

 

“Drink, child,” Marius whispers, and he rubs softly, all violence gone. 

  
  



End file.
